


Writing on the Walls

by ohmytheon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Catwin - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:44:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmytheon/pseuds/ohmytheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It almost looked as if Tywin wasn’t going to answer her at first, the way his eyes latched onto the wall before him again. Catelyn wasn’t about to repeat her question, knowing full well that he’d heard her, but she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t answering her either. Both of them knew that she was right, about the fumes and leaving the door opened while he painted the bedroom for their soon-to-be born son.</p><p>But then, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, she heard the words: “The paint’s supposed to go where?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing on the Walls

**Author's Note:**

> I can't go on a fanfiction prompt writing spree and NOT write Catwin. What kind of person would I be? Prompt: "The paint's supposed to go where?" & Catelyn/Tywin.

Catelyn took a deep breath before she stepped into the room. She left the door open, knowing full well that he needed the fresh air. He’d closed the door out of stubbornness when she’d point out that leaving it open would be a good idea, citing that the fumes would be dangerous for her. Sometimes, the man was stubborn to the point of being idiotic, despite being apparently the smartest man in the country. She’d like to smack the people that called him that upside their heads for inflating his ego even further.

Instead of finding her husband halfway through his work, Tywin was just standing there staring at the wall. So far, the only thing he managed to do is place the plastic tarp everywhere and tape around the outlets and windows. The paint cans were popped open, but the walls were still white.

“You’re not still wanting to argue about the color, are you?” Catelyn asked.

Tywin turned to face her, giving her a sharp look more than a surprised one, even though she knew that she’d caught him off guard. “I thought I–”

Catelyn waved a dismissive hand at him, ignoring the almost affronted look on his face. No one dismissed him and no one interrupted him. Well, he would take this and deal with it. He wasn’t the one that was eight months pregnant and waddling around the house. “Leave off, Tywin,” she told him. He shut his mouth, but he didn’t look too happy about it. “Besides, you haven’t even started painting. What’s taking you so long to start?”

It almost looked as if Tywin wasn’t going to answer her at first, the way his eyes latched onto the wall before him again. She wasn’t about to repeat her question, knowing full well that he’d heard her, but she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t answering her either. Both of them knew that she was right, about the fumes and leaving the door opened while he painted the bedroom for their soon-to-be born son.

But then, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, she heard the words: “The paint’s supposed to go where?”

Silence etched between them with Tywin determinedly staring at the wall and not looking at her and Catelyn gaping at him when she burst out into full belly laughter. She wrapped her arms around herself as best as she could, over her swollen belly, and laughed until it actually hurt. The look her husband gave her was cross at best, humiliated at worse, and she’d never seen him look like this before. This from a man that could tear down any of his opponents in the court room, a man that had bested even the most bulletproof witnesses.

And yet he couldn’t figure out exactly where to paint in their child’s bedroom. How could she not laugh at this? He was so flustered about this pregnancy, more than she was.

“This is not funny, Catelyn,” Tywin grounded out through gritted teeth, holding the clean paintbrush in the air like a weapon.

It may as well have been a white flag of defeat.

“Oh, no, you’re very right,” Catelyn replied, grinning so broadly that it almost hurt her face. She walked towards him. “Not funny at all.”

“I’ll not be laughed at like-like–”

Catelyn kissed him, properly silencing his outburst. He returned the kiss without any hesitation, despite the fact that he’d been ready to give her a tongue lashing. When she pulled back, she put her a hand to his cheek against his beard. “You need to relax, Tywin. Everything is going to be fine.” He placed a hand on her belly. He worried, she knew. His first wife had died giving birth. But Catelyn was not her and it was times like these when she needed him to see her and not a ghost. “We can hire painters if you like.”

“No,” he said firmly, “I’m doing this on my own.”

“If you insist.”

She kissed him once more and then left the room, leaving the door open. He didn’t complain, but he didn’t ask her where the paint was supposed to go again either.


End file.
